The Bachelor
by dauntlessbuttercup
Summary: With his parents dead and his brothers married off to merchant heiresses, 26-year-old Peeta Mellark has become the sole owner of District 12's only bakery. Having never married, Peeta lives the freelance life of a bachelor. But when the only girl he's ever loved returns after having left supposedly forever, Peeta is given a second chance at the life he's always wanted. AU/OCs
1. Chapter 1

A few things for you to know:

**1)There are NO hunger games in this story. They never existed. That changes things-more than you'd think. **

**2)Although the districts are just as poor as they are in the novel, and there are still electric fences surrounding the town, people are allowed to move to other districts, but its a long process.**

**Lastly: I do NOT own Suzanne Collins' the Hunger Games. Not now, not ever. Although, I've dibs on Josh Hutcherson. Good day.**

* * *

_Peeta Mellark's eyes open as the earliest light of dawn shows itself through his closed window. The very last heat wave of the summer, along with the warm, naked figure beside him have caused him to wake covered in a layer of sweat. He considers opening a window, but instead, careful not to wake up his neighbor, lifts out of bed and heads to shower._

**Peeta POV**

After my routine morning shower, I change into my almost-official baking uniform consisting of denim pants and white t-shirt. As I dry my unruly hair and six-week-old beard, I contemplate waking my neighbor, but decide to head down stairs to start the day's duties and some breakfast-just as I have for the last five years.

When my older brother Roy married the gardener's daughter, I, at nineteen, became the sole heir of the Mellark bakery. This was no burden; I had always been the most skilled baker of my brothers. By that time, I no longer needed to look at any baking references; whatever I had to do was done with help from the memory of my father's teachings and my own instinct.

On the downside, I became the focus of mother's unforgiving eye. And with Mother being her special self, my days darkened in a way.

When my two brothers still lived in the house, Mother's anger was well distributed (even if for some reason I always got the worse of it). When they left, my father and I, the least likely to talk back, became Mother's verbal punching bags. If bread burned, if we lost a customer, if anything at all went wrong, Father or I were the official culprit. She never considered that her unwillingness to help and her screams heard from the outside were the reason bread burned, and customers decided to cook their own loafs from tesserae.

When she died of a heart attack six months after Roy left, I didn't cry, but I certainly didn't celebrate either (even though I'm sure the neighbors did). At the funeral, all I felt was a feeling that I could breathe bigger and fuller than I ever had. My father, standing next to me, reflected my feelings; he stood relaxed in posture he'd never let slip if my mom were alive.

The year that followed was the last year I spent with my father. That year held the best of times-not just for me-it was the happiest year my father had had in almost 22 years.

My brothers visited more often, many of our old customers returned, and although business was swamped, father and I managed to work harder without the pressure of mom's critical eye and harsh slurs. We even hired extra help for the overwhelming weekends.

It was mom's absence that allowed me to sneak small conversations with the girl I'd been in love with for over a decade.

My conversations with Katniss Everdeen were short and usually had to do with bread, but I could not be happier. At first she was extremely cold, almost angry. She looked at me with suspicion. Almost as if she expected me to bring something up, something unpleasant. But as the year went by, she loosened up; I guess she figured it was all strictly business, probably because I was always too much of a coward to bring anything else up. Sometimes, she almost smiled at me. Every time we were done, she thanked me for the bread, and as she walked away, her stride always hesitated. It looked like she wanted to turn around and say something. She never did.

It was a cold December morning when I went to wake up my father— my father who was usually up before me. But no matter how much I shook and called, my father never woke. He died in his sleep. The medic said as much. The cause of death isn't important in a district as poor as District Twelve. The dead are dead anyway. A blood clot, the medic guessed, _maybe._

This time, I did cry at the funeral. Among my brothers, I cried for my father's life. I cried for his unfulfilled life with a bitter woman. I cried for the lost love he mentioned once. I cried from the times my father didn't defend me from mom. And I cried for remembering that.

There was no time for taking a mourning break. I set to work the very next day. My brother, Wyatt, agreed to stay the week, to lighten my load. Roy didn't. He's not a bad person. It's just that I don't think he would be able to handle it. Losing father was the last straw.

The first morning, I didn't want to wake, but I did, partly out of responsibility, partly out of the wish to see Katniss that day.

But it was Primrose Everdeen who came in to trade that afternoon.

* * *

"_Hey," he smiles at the girl. To him she is still the sweet child he saw walk and grow beside Katniss Everdeen-even at the age of seventeen years old. _

"_Hello," she responds. He doesn't realize it as she's walking in, but when she reaches the counter, he realized her eyes were swollen from crying. _

"_What's wrong?" he asks, always concerned for an Everdeen. She sniffles as she hastily wipes her tears. Peeta hands her a tissue from the counter. _

"_Nothing, I just—" she sniffles again. She looks like she's about to start hyperventilating. Unlike her older sister, Primrose Everdeen wears her heart on her sleeve. No held emotion fails to appear on her face, no matter the occasion. "I—I've just had to go and say goodbye to all my friends..." She stops restraining her sobs. _

"_What?" Peeta asks, not understanding. _

"_I came to tell you as well. I don't know how to say this, b-but, we're moving to a—another district. D—District 4. Our friends have family there, and there are b-better jobs, more options. We d-decided to apply for relocation, and the application was accepted...we got the letter yesterday. Our assigned train… leaves this Sunday. J-just two days left. "_

"_W-wait," he stutters, "how is your family moving to District 4? Don't you have to have close family living there? I-I mean, I understand your friends have family there. But you don't. How—" _

"_They got engaged."_

"_Who? Who got engaged?" he asks, suddenly afraid he knows the answer._

"_Katniss. She's marrying Gale Hawthorne."_

_ If Peeta was devastated from simply knowing they were leaving, he must've died when he got the latter of the news. He feels as if his throat has caved. He wants to go. He needs to run. As much he adores Prim, he can't handle her broken gaze. He might break too. _

"_Oh, well I'm sorry you have to leave. It must be hard to leave all your friends." He can only say what is easiest at the moment; he tries his hardest change his pitiful expression to one of sympathy. "Is there anything I can get you, anything I can do?" _

"_Well, you've always been kind to me and my sister, Peeta; it seemed right that I come to say goodbye. I know you're going through a hard time, and I don't want to worsen it with my woes." Her tears have stopped, she smiles softly. "I'm sure Katniss would have come too, but she has to help pack; she's busy. I mentioned I would visit you, and she told me it was a good idea, and to thank you for everything." _

"_There is absolutely nothing to thank me for, Prim. I-I've only done my job." He tries to add a laugh. She looks at him in a way that tells him she doesn't quite believe him. _

"_Speaking of your job, I'm also here for some bread; the next few days will probably be meatless. Six loaves of rye, please?" She smiles, as she ignores his previous comment. Peeta brings her back the freshest loaves he can find. Prim starts to pull out coins from her pocket, but Peeta pushes the bagged bread toward her hands. _

"_It's on me." He manages a genuine smile, always in a giving mood when it comes to the Everdeens. Besides, it's no trouble; he only has one mouth to feed now. Unlike her sister, who would have probably refused and have forced the coins into Peeta's hand (or cash register), Prim smiles and accepts gracefully. _

"_Thank you so much Peeta—for everything," she says. Her tone almost makes Peeta believe she's thanking him for more than six loaves of bread. But he leaves it. _

_ Before she turns to leave, Prim leans over the counter to embrace Peeta. "Thank you so much," she whispers in his hear. _

_ And with that, she grabs her bag and heads out the bakery door-for the very last time. _

* * *

I am jolted to from memories when two slender arms wrap around my chest.

"Blye," I shudder as she kisses the back of my neck, "Good mor—"

"You didn't wake me up, bread boy." She whispers.

"Sorry, I thought you needed rest; we were up for a while." I reach behind me to embrace her. "I made breakfast."

"Well. I guess I have time for some breakfast—but a quick one; I need to get back to the kids. Their aunt can't babysit them forever."

Blye, at thirty five, is nine years older than me. Her husband passed a couple of years ago. When she gets especially lonely she'll show up at the bakery's side door in need for distraction. I, of course, never fail to entertain her for a few hours. It's not exclusive, as both of us have over the last few years developed more than a few relationships with the opposite sex.

"That's fine; Darla said she needed to stop by for lunch today."

"Oooh, aren't we busy?"

"Ha, it's not what you think. She needs help with her senior essay," I laugh, already knowing what her response will be.

"What horrible pretense. Darla isn't known to study, Peeta. How old is she, by the way?"

"Don't worry, she's nineteen. She's still in high school, which is precisely _why_ she needs my help."

"You are loose man with absolutely no manners, Peeta Mellark. Have you always been this way?" She starts a kettle on the stove.

"As long as I can remember," I lie, not interested in yet another woman trying to dig through my "hardened shell."

"Well, 'm not the best person to preach. Sugar in your tea?"

"Yes," I respond.

We sit at the table, and begin to eat my famous cinnamon buns (well-famous, at least, to the merchant women of District 12). My tea tastes too sweet in my mouth, but I don't complain. Blye is content with her meal. We eat in a comfortable silence, sporadically interrupted by Blye's appreciative sighs and moans reminiscent to those of the night before.

"Delicious," Blye says when the meal is over. "I've gotta dash, sunshine. Train's here, gotta get my pills. Wouldn't want to stop our quality time any time soon, eh?"

"Wouldn't want that," I respond caustically.

Blye lets herself out after giving my hair a ruffle, and I'm left to finish breakfast on my own.

At seven thirty, I open for the day. I am in the kitchen when the bell at the front chimes. I grab a towel, and wipe my hands as I walk to the counter.

I drop my towel, when I see my very first customer of the day.

The girl I have loved for more than twenty years.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

* * *

Okay, confession time. This is the **very first time I've EVER** written anything for fun. So, obviously, this is my first fanfiction. At 19, I've only experience in essays (yuck), but I decided I want to try some creative writing, because I love stories and reading. So yeah, there a probably TONS of rookie mistakes in this chapter-especially with the dialogue, which I've zero experience with. **REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED. **

Also, I'm not gonna lie-this story was sort of inspired after I watched The Notebook. **It will not share the same plot** or anything; I just wanted to experiment with Peeta as a bachelor, the way Noah was when Allie left for seven years. It was really hard not to imagine Peeta as Ryan Gosling while writing this.

**Edited: Dec. 14, 2012**


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guys, welcome back!

Just a note: Some things in the story may seem OOC, but just remember, Peeta and Katniss are at a different stages in their lives than they were when they were sixteen. Also the Hunger Games don't exist, so that changes things psychologically. They are 21 in flashbacks and 26 in the present.

**Lastly, Suzanne Collins' the Hunger Games trilogy does not belong to me. And as always, Josh does.**

* * *

I know it's not a dream. It can't be because this isn't the last Katniss I saw-the Katniss engraved in my dreams and nightmares. The Katniss I last saw only resembles the one facing me now.

"Katniss."

* * *

"_Wyatt!" Prim isn't halfway down the front steps when Peeta rushes through the kitchen door. He's already out of breath when he reaches his oldest brother. "Wyatt, I need— " He doesn't know what he needs. Air? Water? Something essential, he's sure. Maybe he just needs to get out of there. "I need a break; can you please just call someone over to help out for today? I need—" _

"_You do what you need to do." His brother probably thinks he's still grieving his father's death. But Peeta Mellark isn't like that. Peeta Mellark is a selfish boy who has already forgotten his father. All it took was the redundant loss of the love of his life. The engagement of some girl. A _Seam_ girl, no less. _

_But she isn't just _some _girl. Katniss Everdeen is the girl his father pointed out on that very first day of school. The girl whose voice and enthusiasm charmed him. The girl who he fell in love with before he even knew love existed. Katniss is the girl he took a beating for that day, fifteen years ago, when she hadn't eaten in days. And she is the girl he saw rise from the ashes to make sure her little sister didn't die of starvation. _

_He'd often had an argument with his friend Delilah about his so called _love _for Katniss. Delly argued that there was no way he could be in love with a girl he hadn't said two words to. "You don't know her," she'd tell him every time the conversation came up. He knew Delly meant well, but she was wrong. _

_Peeta did not need to know Katniss' favorite color to know that she was the strongest spirit he'd ever seen. That's what he loved about her. No one had ever done what she'd done for her sister at the age of eleven, not in District 12. Not even his family's love extended that far-especially not his mother's. _

_Perhaps that's what has always fascinated him the most. Katniss loves and is loved by her sister in a way that he never witnessed in his broken home. He wanted that love. He wanted her love__—__just as much as he wanted the opportunity love her back fully. He wanted to know that he could love more than his mother and father could. _

_His busy thoughts allow Peeta's feet to lead the way. When he finally pays attention, he realizes they've brought him into the Seam. He has only been in the Seam once— way back when he was a kid, and he followed Katniss home. He sees the road leading to her house in the distance. _

_He wants to go see her again. But he can't. He's always been a coward. That's why his love is so unbelievable to people like Delly. _

_He can't get himself to go see her, so he turns the other direction in hopes of finding the rumored Hob. _

_When he finally finds the supposedly abandoned warehouse, he is surprised he didn't see it sooner. The Seam folk seem less than discreet as they bustle in and out of the marketplace. Indoors, he is shocked at the number of Peacekeepers roaming around. Blinded by his embarrassment at his sheltered life, he bumps into the town drunk, Haymitch. _

"_Ey, watch where you're going kid; these… these are new pants, if I spill on 'em you won't be a—" he stops himself when he probably notices Peeta's blond hair and blue eyes. "Ah merchant boy, did cha get lost kid?" Just as he's about to respond, Peeta has an idea._

"_Where did you get that?" he points at the drunk's bottle. _

"_Oh-ho- ho, kid. No. Your pampered life 'asnnot.. not prepared you for this… this…" He trails off, seeming to get drunker by the minute, but Peeta doesn't wait for him to continue, as he spots the one-armed woman he's heard provides the booze in District 12. _

_Haymitch's nonsense blabbering is lost in the crowd noise as Peeta makes his way to the one-armed lady. _

"_Uh, what do you have?" Peeta asks the surprising sober looking woman._

"_Look kid, I've never seen you here before. I'm not selling to some merchant snitch," the woman says._

"_You've sold to my brothers. And who am I going to tell? Look, I have the money right here," he pulls out some coins. "I'm not going to tell anyone. Are you seriously going to pass this up?" He knows he sounds condescending, but at this point he's too concentrated on the possible solution of drowning in liquor. _

_ Outside, he spots an oak and slides to sit at the base. He takes a swig of the alcohol. It's not the first time he's drunk whiskey or any type of alcohol (he's attended plenty of merchant high school parties), but it's the first time he's had a whole bottle. He hopes the alcohol can fill the emptiness he feels in his stomach, but as he finishes the bottle, he realizes he only needs one thing—person. _

_He stands up and lets his memory take him towards her house. When the one room structure finally makes it into his line of vision, his feet make turn to another direction. Not even the alcohol can give him the courage to talk to Katniss Everdeen. He walks until he sees a meadow and the loosened fence at its edge. At least he has the courage to do this. _

_Under the influence of alcohol, he slips under the loosened bottom of the fence, and tastes true freedom for the first time. The sense takes away any fear of a wild animal. At this point, he doesn't care. Maybe if a wild dog ate him, he'd sleep and see his dad and probably move in with Katniss. Maybe he can selflessly love in that sleep. _

_He finds another oak, and he sits at the base once more, facing the deep forest. He is only a few feet within the woods, but other trees hide him from view. He closes his eyes and brings to memory the minutes he spent with Katniss. He tries not to let Gale Hawthorne thoughts ruin his memories. He tries not to think about how Gale Hawthorne will soon be able to touch Katniss in every way that he's ever wanted, if he hasn't already. He fails at that—miserably. _

_He is far gone into the depths of intoxication, when he hears rustling behind him. He cranes his neck to see behind his tree, afraid that he might actually die. He barely blinks before an arrow whizzes by his head. _

"_Peeta!" _

_Katniss. He removes lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. She runs to him. "If I hadn't flinched— you'd be dead in a second!" She seems more startled than him._

"_Katniss." He doesn't know what else to say. He's shocked to see her, and he's also shocked at the unprecedented amount of expression on her face. The late noon light reflects off of her dark glossy hair. He's distracted. _

"_What are you doing here?" She's on her knees next to him, her face less than two feet away from his. "Are you okay?"_

"_Yeah, I'm fine," he finds his voice. _

"_Ugh, you reek of alcohol," she mutters, her yes finally glancing at the bottle on his lap. _

"_I—hi, Katniss." Great. He's greeted her twice. Again. _

"_Hello, Peeta. What are you doing here?" she tries again. _

"_I don't know. I needed to get away," he manages to keep his voice steady. _

"_Oh. Well I almost confused you for a squi—" _

"_What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be…supposed to be packing?" Even with the alcohol kicking in, he decides to add some words into his vocabulary; "Hello" and "Hi" can only take him so far. _

"_Prim told you, huh? Yeah, I'm trying to find some meat for the next few days," she shakes her bow as evidence. _

"_And you're engaged." Yeah, the alcohol is kicking in. _

"_Prim…" She trails off, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. "Yes, I am engaged to Gale Hawthorne." _

_Awkward silence ensues. _

"_Do you—do you love him?" His mind has relinquished control to his heart— no more small talk. Peeta Mellark asks the hard questions. _

"_You're drunk." She is still unable to look into his eyes. _

"_Answer me," his tone comes out harsher than he intended, embarrassing what remains of his sanity. She jerks her head to look at him once more, gasping in angry disbelief. This conversation is far from small talk concerning trade. _

"_I don't have to answer to you, what I do is none of your business." _

"_What I do." He repeats triumphantly; it's all he can do to keep the alcohol from fully revealing a developing smirk; he has his answer. "You don't love him. Why not…why not 'who I love'?"_

She's shocked. "_What the hell is wrong with you?" She grabs him by the collar and pulls him up from the base of the tree. "_You _don't know me—" _

"_Don't tell me that; dammit, I want to!" His voice cracks at the end; he's furious to hear what he's heard all his life straight from Katniss' mouth. He wants to prove her wrong. "Do you remember?"_

"_What are you talking about?" She glares at him, head shaking with disbelief, eyes moistening. Somehow, she knows what he's talking about._

"_That day… the day you—" He can't stop himself. He can't try. But he's interrupted. _

"_How _dare _you?" She's furious. _

"_You say I don't know you, but I was there. I saw you at your—" _

"_Don't!" Overflowing tears run down her furious features. They blend with the rain that must've begun to fall as they began to argue. How appropriate. "What do you want? Do you want me to thank you?! Is that what you want? Well—" _

"_Is that what you think?" He interrupts. "You think I want to claim a prize?!" _

"_I didn't ask for charity."_

"_No, you didn't. And I didn't give it," he says. "What I did that day, it wasn't for you. It was for me."_

_This time she's speechless in her confusion. _

"_You think I would have risked it for a stranger? For some random kid?" He's yelling now."I did it for me! I did it because I didn't want to see the girl I love—" He breaks off, realizing. _

_Katniss is silent, but only for a moment. She repeats herself, "You're drunk."_

_He gets up, and he looks at her straight into the eye. "You don't know me," and with that he grabs the back of her head and brings it forward so that his lips can meet hers. _

_The texture of her lips doesn't register before he's pushed back to the ground. _

_She's not crying anymore. She shakes her head, before breaking the silence._

"_Thank you for the bread. Goodbye, Peeta." And she walks away, leaving him panting on the wet forest floor, staring at her wet, disheveled braid._

* * *

_When Peeta makes finally arrives home, Wyatt doesn't question his pathetic appearance. _Sweet, dedicated Peeta must be having a hard time grieving his loving dead father; he probably needs the next two or three days off._ And he does. _

* * *

"Hello, Peeta," she says in the same quiet voice I remember; only slightly changed by age and circumstance.

"You're back." My dazed mind can only say the obvious. Somehow I feel as if I've been thrown back into that less than sober state I was in five years ago. Her eyes tell me she's still there as well.

"Yeah… I was sent back."

END OF CHAPTER TWO

* * *

Yeah, I know the present didn't progress much, but as far as I know right now, it will progress in the next chapter!

**Thank you so much for the follows, favorites, and the REVIEWS! They were unexpected and made me extremely happy. I tried to make fewer mistakes in this chapter! Reviews reviews are still much much much much^183847237 appreciated. **

**Edited: 12.14.12 **


	3. Chapter 3

_A thank you to my lovely beta: itsjustdude_

**Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games does not belong to me. Thanks.  
**

* * *

"Sent back…" I echo in my dazed state. Words have left me. _She's back. She's back._

My heart is racing, and we're not even doing anything. She's just looking at me. I feel like that kid again—the one from five years ago, giddy to see her walk through the bakery's door. And then I'm done. I can't look at her in the eye. It's overwhelming. So, instead, I shake off my memories and take everything but her face in.

She's changed. She's wearing the same clothes I last saw her in—her father's jacket, a black shirt, trousers—but that's all that registers. Everything else has changed. The first change, the change most people would have noticed first, is her hair. It's no longer hanging over her shoulder in a braid. I don't think that's even possible anymore—no, it's shorter, much shorter. It's down; the ends just graze her shoulders. It looks shinier and cleaner than before—not that I ever complained.

But that's not the first change _I _notice. Her body…it's fuller. As I take her in, I try not to linger on her breasts for too long. But from the quick glance I do get, it's obvious that they're not where they were five years ago. Even with her men's cut jacket, the change, while only a little more than subtle, is noticeable.

Her waist is no longer within the range of the Seam girls. It compares to any merchant girl's I've ever seen. Her hips are hidden by the rest of the jacket, but from the change in her breasts, I can imagine the change there.

Now that I get a closer look, I notice her trousers are actually not the same ones she used for hunting before. They look newer, less worn; the old ones probably don't fit her anymore. Her legs are no longer the "chicken legs" I heard my friend's girlfriend gossip about in high school. They look fuller, their shapeliness showing through each pant leg.

I bring my gaze back to her face, careful not to linger on my favorite changes. She's also looking at me—and not just my face. She's looking at the rest of me. I guess even I look different than the last time we saw each other.

And with that, I am brought back to reality: The consequence of what I did the last time we saw each other. She must notice the change in posture, as she abruptly brings her eyes to meet mine once again. I can feel the heat, previously concentrated lower down my body, rise to my face. Her face reflects what I suppose my face looks like at the moment. She remembers. Of course.

I want to say something. Anything. But I can't. And if I could, I wouldn't know what to say. I don't know where our relationship, if any, stands. The only clue to what she's feeling is the red tint her face has taken; the rest of her face is as impassive as ever. I look away, humiliated at what I did, humiliated that I can't do anything now.

And then I remember. She's probably not here to see me. I am the only baker in town, after all. If I can just assume the character of service provider, I can hopefully get through this. We hardly even talked. I'm probably just a boy who went to her school, a guy who just happened to be drunk in the forest. And with that I smile.

"Welcome back, Katniss." I don't ask how she is; I need to push this as far away from the both of us as possible. "Is there anything I can get you today?"

She looks taken aback, clearly not expecting the forced shift in atmosphere. She hesitates, and opens her mouth multiple times, as if she wants to say something. She finally settles.

"Yes," she looks thoughtful. "Uh, two loaves of wheat?"

"Just a second," I say. I go through the back door and into the kitchen. Once inside, I grab two fresh loaves from the cooling rack and wrap them in paper. I pause at the door. I need to figure out what I need to do. Do I say something? I contemplate asking one of my apprentices to go in my stead. But that would be too strange. No matter how much I've messed things up, I don't want to make anything worse. Confused as ever, I walk back to the front of the store.

"Got it," I say.

"How much will it be?" She asks. _How much will it be?_

"No squirrels?" I ask jokingly. I regret it as soon as it leaves my mouth; I need to keep this as professional as possible.

"Oh. No," she says, pulling coins out of her pocket.

"Four," I say. She hands me the money. She doesn't thank me or say good-bye like usual. She looks down, hesitating once more. I wait. I want her to say something. Why she's here, what happened, anything at all. But she doesn't. She just stands there looking extremely uncomfortable—like she wants to leave, but can't. I want to ask her how she is. And then I remember.

Gale. She's married to him. There is no reason for me to ever get my hopes up. She's gone. She belongs with Gale.

"Well, I actually have someone coming over," I say thinking of my arranged meeting with Darla, the girl I'm supposed to help study. "But thank you. It was great seeing you. Have a great day."

"Oh, sorry." She grabs the bread. "Thank you, Peeta"

"You're welcome," I smile at her. Even if I'm not the same boy I was when she left, inevitably, I am still really happy to see her.

And then she's gone, leaving me exhausted. Just from looking at her.

"Thomas!" I yell. I need the day off.

* * *

"No, you can't put a comma there, Darla." I tell her, "That's a comma splice."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Peeeta," she says, dragging my name out as usual. "I'm just so bad…at this. It's too difficult!" She runs her fingers from my beard to the back of my head.

"You just need to make sure you put them in the right place," I say trying not to get distracted as she tries to climb onto my lap. We're working on her senior essay, and like always, Darla can't keep her hands to herself. "Look here," I say, pointing back to her paper. "Your teacher said no contract—"

"Speaking of contracting," she says, finally settling on my lap. It always leads to this.

Two years ago, Darla started hanging out with her high school friends after school at the bakery. She stood out the most among friends, always trying to include me in their conversations. They'd sit at a table for hours and ask endless questions about bread. I recognized it as flirting, but didn't think much of it; she was just a kid. But after she turned eighteen, she started coming by herself, and eventually, she asked for help with her schoolwork. At first, I'd try to convince her to focus on her work, but eventually her hormones (arguably, mine as well) won over. She, like every girl I'm still with, told me she expected nothing to come from our relationship, and so far, she's kept her word.

Today, I don't even try to stop her; I need to forget…again. It's always again and again. She turns to put her arms around my shoulders, straddling my legs. She runs her hands under my shirt and pulls it off. I eventually do the same. Her kisses, like every woman's in this district, are much too wet as they move south. She grabs me, and I push her across my bedroom to my bed.

* * *

It's late evening when I'm woken up by a knock at the door. Darla still lies on my bed, as I slip on my pants and t-shirt.

"Ugh, so sore," she whines. "I'll go down with you in a second." She doesn't attempt to cover up.

"Okay, just put something on; don't want to traumatize the children." She laughs. I shut the door and run down the stairs. The knocking starts again, coming from the front door of the bakery. The rhythm isn't urgent; it's steady, with purpose.

"I'm coming!" I pant, as struggle with the lock. "Just a sec—" I break off when I finally open the door. I am standing face to face with Katniss Everdeen for the second time in five years. "Hey…"

"Hi, Peeta," she says, her eyes locked on mine. "Can I come in?" Stunned, I step aside and let her in.

"Yeah, sure." I notice she is still holding the bread I gave her earlier.

"What can I do for you?" I ask, reverting to customer service mode.

"I—" She is interrupted.

"Hello," I turn around to see Darla wrapped in my blanket—just my blanket.

"Hello," Katniss says, knitting her dark eyebrows. "I—I didn't realize you were busy."

"I—yeah. Katniss, this is my friend Darla." I point my thumb back at Darla.

"Hello, Katniss." Darla smiles at her.

Katniss waivers.

"Why don't you go upstairs, Darla." I say. Darla stops smiling.

"Oh, okay, I was just leaving anyway, Peeta." She walks towards the stairs. "Don't worry, I'll let myself out..."

Crap. She's pissed. All of my companions know about each other, but it's one thing know about a girl and another to see and be replaced by her. I'll have to explain myself later, not that I care much at the moment. I turn my attention back to Katniss. She's fidgeting with her jacket's cuffs.

"I'm really sorry if I interrupted…" she hesitates, still avoiding my eyes.

"It's fine," I say. I want to tell her that it doesn't matter; I don't think anything has ever been so insignificant. Nothing matters if I'm talking to Katniss—husband or no husband. "What do you need?"

She finally brings her gray eyes to meet mine. Even they have changed. Dulled once by hunger, her eyes now shine brighter than the eyes of anyone I can remember at the moment.

"I don't know how to say this, Peeta." She swallows dry.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I—I," she straightens up. "I need a place to stay."

END OF CHAPTER THREE

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**Author's Note: **Yeah, I know short chapter. Long week. I will try to keep updating often, though. **Thank you so much for all the follows, favorites, and REVIEWS!** And even if you're reading without doing any of those, thank you anyway. **Another thank you to my beta: itsjustdude** :3


	4. Chapter 4

_A lovely thank you to my awesome beta: itsjustdude 3_

**I do not own Suzanne Collins' _The Hunger Games_ trilogy...if it isn't obvious from my writing. **_  
_

* * *

_"...I need a place to stay"_

And then the questions start.

"Where's Prim?" Katniss is no longer looking at me. She shakes her head, eyes trained on the floor—anywhere but me. Again. "Where's Gale? W—what happened?"

She closes her eyes, lips tightening into a line. Shit. She's going to cry. I can handle women crying. I've had to do it plenty of times; I take pride in being able to comfort them. But I can't handle Katniss Everdeen crying—not for a second time. Not when I was the one responsible the first time. And so I shut up about it.

"Where are your things?" I ask instead, sparing her from having to ask directly. She wouldn't be here if there was any other way; definitely not after what happened in the forest.

She takes a deep breath, relieved that I finally shut up, probably. She's still refusing to look at me, but at least her eyes are open again, body relaxed. She turns; I follow her down the front steps to the corner of the bakery.

Instantly, I feel guilty. Three large bags lean against an exterior wall of the bakery. I shouldn't have driven her away. She probably had to carry the bags around all day. She tries to stop me when I pick up her bags.

"I can carry them," she says.

"I know," I say, maintaining a hold of her bags as I walk back home, "But you don't have to." She's carried them long enough, many thanks to my cowardice. I can't even look at her anymore.

If someone had told me this morning that Katniss Everdeen would be moving in with me by the evening, I wouldn't have been able to process it. Katniss Everdeen in my house? It's a boy's fantasy. Impossible, but somehow it's happening. Somehow the fantasy has manifested itself into believable reality. If I had known beforehand, I would have spent hours just planning what room she'd be staying in. Instead, my feet lead me upstairs, past my closed bedroom door, and down the hall toward Wyatt's old bedroom.

"You'll have to stay in Wyatt's room. I don't think Roy ever bothered to come back and clean out his room after he left." I say. Then, remembering she doesn't know me like I know her, I add, "They're my brothers." Katniss only nods.

I examine her, doing it less objectively than I did before. She looks exhausted. She must have been walking around the district all day. I was too distracted to pay much notice to the gray circles under her eyes this morning, but looking at them now, it's obvious that she needs rest. I hang by the door. I need answers, but there's no way she can give them to me in this state.

"We'll talk later," I tell her, hopefully sending a clear message that she's not getting away with silence forever. She nods again. "Just rest for now." And with that, I close the door.

I head downstairs and bolt the doors. It's when I turn on the kitchen light that I realize Katniss and I aren't alone.

"Darla," I mutter. And she doesn't let me take a breath.

"Who is she?!" she whispers.

"She's just—she's Katniss Everdeen." I don't know why I was about to say 'just'. There is no 'just' when it comes to Katniss Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen simply is.

"Okay, but who is she?" She is fuming. "Why is she staying here? Why did she bring her bags in?"

"She's—" I break off. I don't know what to say about Katniss Everdeen. I love her, I know for sure, but what kind of relationship is that? I haven't spoken to her more than an hour in my whole lifetime. What does Katniss see? I don't even know why she chose to come here. Maybe she believed me when I almost said I loved her in the forest. Maybe she didn't think it was just the alcohol. Heat rises to my face at the thought—no. I had counted on her attributing it to the alcohol. It was my last hope. But then again, she's still here. I take the safe route. "She's my friend."

"Friend, huh?"

"Yeah," I say. I need to keep this simple. The last thing I need is for—

"You wouldn't even consider it! When my parents almost kicked me out, you wouldn't even consider it!" Shit. She's near shouting now. I need to calm her down.

"She has nowhere else to go, please just—"

"Don't ask me to calm down! If she's a friend, then what the fuck am I?! What the fuck is Blye?! What the fuck is Vibia?! What's anyone else?!" She's feral now. She clenches my shirt and hisses, "Are we your _whores_?" Yeah, I finally remember why I'm supposed to stay away from youger women.

"You need to go," I say. "We can talk later, if you want."

"If I want," she repeats. "If I want—" A slap stings my skin. "What about you?!"

"I'm sorry, Darla." I don't lose her gaze.

"Fuck you!" Her slap stings one more time, before she runs out the kitchen door.

I bolt the door and climb back up stairs. On the last step, I swear I hear a door close down the hallway.

Shit. I've made some mistakes.

* * *

_She heard. She heard. She heard._ The thought bounces in my head as I will myself to go to sleep. There is no end. She must think I'm the worst. She probably thinks I'm a Cray in the making. First, I forced myself on her-now this. I wish it were all misunderstanding, then all I would need to do would be to talk to her—clear things up. But it's not. I did kiss her while I was drunk, and I do sleep around with too many women. There is absolutely no denying anything. I almost feel sorry for her; she has nowhere else to go, and she has to stay here with a man she barely knows. She's probably scared out of her mind that I'll sneak into her room at night. I'm probably not helping her sleep.

But I don't feel completely sorry for her, because I know at least I'm not actually going to sneak into her room. And if I felt sorry for her, I'd also have to feel completely sorry for myself. But I'm sleeping under the same roof as Katniss Everdeen. I don't think I've felt this lucky in a long time.

The mix of guilt, shame, and embarrassment becomes too much, and I eventually get out of bed looking for something to do. I try not to make too much noise, as I don't want Katniss to think I'm planning to sneak into her bed.

When I find nothing to do, I lie down on the floor next to my bed. Maybe if I count the dots of texture on the ceiling like I did on nights when I heard my mom scream at my father, I can eventually lull to sleep. I'm not sure how I feel about all these memories of my childhood coming to me. I guess it's to be expected with the return of the distant highlight of my childhood. I feel stupid lying on the floor like the kid from ten years ago, just trying to disappear from existence as he heard his mom destroy all she had left. But I'm not a kid anymore, I remember as slide my hand under bed. I touch the cool surface of my old sketchbook. I'm not.

I close my eyes, drifting into suppressed memory.

* * *

_On the day Katniss leaves, Peeta remains in bed all morning, as his brother has let him do since the day of the forest. It's over—his childhood. Katniss is gone, his parents are dead, his brothers are married, and within a few days, he'll be the only Mellark left in the bakery—an unwanted responsibility now._

_Even though he had barely spoken to her, Peeta had remained hopeful that one day he'd get to truly know Katniss, that she would eventually fall in love with him, that she'd rescue him from his family. And the dream refuses to die up until the moment he hears the train station signaling the departure. Maybe something will happen. Maybe a miracle, like the ones described in those old forbidden books. Maybe Katniss Everdeen will come knocking on the door and run into his arms and decide she needs to know him: a dream from the mentality of a child._

_As he hears the train pull away, he flips through the drawings of his sketchbook. From the smiling stick figures of kindergarten to the exaggerated figures of puberty, he sees the evolution of not only his skills and her physical appearance, but the changes in himself as well. He sees change from when he was eleven, as the environments became more realistic for District 12. He sees how everything became lighter after his mother left._

_But everyone has left. Nothing is relevant. And with that his grief is replaced by loneliness and the anger of being left behind. Something he can do something about. He can't be weak anymore. Not when his brother will leave him in charge in just a few short days. Soon, he's going to have to take charge, hire new people—there will be no time for late mornings or days off. He lifts off his bed and heads down stairs to the kitchen._

_"I'll be back later—to help," he tells his brother, making sure to be out the door before he can object._

_And for the first time, he walks through a Katniss-less District 12. Where all that truly remains of her is his memory, which will fade all too quickly. He's drowning, when an arm wrapping around his pulls him afloat in his pool of self-pity._

_"Well, if it isn't Peeta Mellark," Rhym Lark whispers in his ear. "How are you feeling?"_

_"Felt better," Peeta smiling at his old lab partner. "How are you, Rhym?"_

_"I'm fine, thank you. I was just thinking about you actually," she says tightening the grip on his arm. "I really am sorry about your father, Peeta. He was very kind to me and my brother."_

_"Yeah…" Peeta responds, realizing the invisibility of half of his problems._

_"Would you like to talk? I can make tea." She suggests. Peeta figures that probably beats walking to the Hob and filling the hole with alcohol._

_"Okay," he says. She smiles at him._

_"My parents are actually going to be at the Undersee's all day, so we can talk as much as you want." She winks at him. "We have alcoholic drinks!" Surprisingly, Peeta feels relieved to be part of the first carefree conversation he's heard in days._

_"Well that's half the entertainment." He replies sarcastically, feeling empowered by the invisibility of his problems._

_"Hey! I am the very best hostess!" She slaps his arm._

_"Oh really? I don't really remember," he jokes._

_"It hasn't been that long!" she giggles. "I'll have you know, I've matured into a fine young woman capable of remembering to offer her guests at least one drink!"_

_"Well that's one more drink than you offered me when we worked together," he teases._

_"Peeta Mellark, you are going to make me cry!" she jokes, as she unlocks the backdoor of her house. "Oh, guess what?! I forgot to tell you! I'm engaged now!"_

_"What? Someone agreed to marry you? I guess it's true; we simply don't have enough citizens in District 12."_

_"Oh, shush you." She leads him to the living room. "So do you want to pretend and start with the tea or skip to the drinks?"_

_"What do you have?"_

_"Ripper's Whiskey!"_

* * *

_"Wait, no hold my glass" Rhym hands him the glass, climbing onto the couch. "I can do—do that same flip from the edge of the couch right—right here!" Even in his intoxicated state, Peeta can tell that it's a horrible idea. He puts the glasses down, and grabs her hand._

_"You're going to crack your head open, c'mon." He pulls her off the couch. He lets go off her hand, but she doesn't; she begins to cry, instead._

_"He's a Peacekeeper, Peeta! He made a deal with my parents!" she cries. Peeta can only stare— he's never had to comfort a woman. Rhym wraps her arms around his neck. "Why can't I have you instead?"_

_And then she's kissing him. And he's kissing her back. He's not sure if what he's doing is wrong, but he recognizes that the situation has de-prioritized Katniss. Maybe he can forget. As if reading his mind Rhym tells him:_

_"Make me forget."_

_And he does._

* * *

_It's the middle of the night, and they're locked in her bedroom—at it again. He's never done this before, but Rhym obviously has. She currently has him on his back, while she does it all; he plays with his two new favorite toys. For the second time since they started early in the evening, she collapses on top of him; the other times it was him that did so. They both have their reasons. A smile plays on his lips, as he remembers the state he was in only that morning._

_"Can't you talk to my parents?" She asks, pulling him out of his blissful state. Shit. "I wasn't so bad—can't you marry me?" He sits up, sobered. He hesitates._

_For the first time that day, he clearly remembers Katniss. Not that she left-no, he remembers her face and her smile when she looks at her sister. And he knows he's got to get out of there._

_"Rhym, I'm not getting married…anytime soon," he makes sure to add the last part, fearing she'll ask questions. He prepares himself for the outburst, but it never comes._

_"All right. I figured," she sighs. "That wasn't the plan anyway. Like I said, I just want to forget—even if it's only for a few hours."_

_"I'm sorry, Rhym—I—I should go," he says, embarrassed to have said no for such void reasons. He likes Rhym. He feels he'd do most things for his old lab partner, but marriage isn't an option. He starts to dress; Rhym watches in silence._

_"Don't worry about me, Peeta." She obviously notices his discomfort. "You owe me nothing." Peeta finally manages to smile, relieved._

_"I_—I hope it works out," he says, feeling pathetic. _  
_

_And as we walks home, he smiles as he realizes he's discovered an activity to relieve his anger and loneliness. He's probably not going to go back to Rhym, but he's going to make sure he's never alone. He's going to manage the bakery. He can just live day by day, distraction by distraction. He's found a valuable tool. He's going to change. He's going to leave his old self behind. If he was able to pretend to be whole with Rhym, he can do it with anyone, and eventually he won't be pretending anymore. The next years, for the first time in a few days, seem livable._

* * *

"PRIM!" I'm jerked awake. "PRIM!"

Katniss.

Once again, my feet are ahead of my brain, as I rush down the hallway, only pausing for a second before I throw her bedroom door open.

"Katniss!"

"PRIM!" She's near convulsing, tears streaming down her face; she's still asleep. "STOP IT PLEASE!"

"Katniss," I shake her shoulder. "You need to wake up."

"LET ME G—" Her fist thrashes, connecting with my face. Ouch. I give up trying to be careful and hold her arms down.

"Katniss, wake up," I shake her again. This time it works; her eyes snap open meeting mine.

"Peeta, what are you doing here?" She's pants, wiping her eyes.

"I—you were yelling." I say still holding on to her. She glances down at my hands on her arms, and I drop them. "Sorry—I thought you'd want to be woken up…" She nods her head, taking a deep breath.

"Ye—thank you."

"Are you okay, Katniss?" I ask, realizing that she's still shaking. Maybe her dream is more real than I imagine.

"I— I'm...good. Thank you," she looks away.

"Do you need something?" I glance at the clock, "It's four thirty, I have to wake up at five anyway."

"No, thank you," she says quietly.

"We need to talk. I'm going to go make breakfast; you can go back to sleep if you'd like."

"I'll be down soon. I just need to shower and change—" She points at her nightgown, her face reddening. I jump backward, embarrassed.

"Yeah—yes. I'll go start breakfast; take your time." I shut the door behind me.

We both have a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

"Hey." Katniss walks into the kitchen an hour later, changed, hair wet.

"Oh, hey…bread's cooling." I smile at her.

"Look, Peeta." She looks me dead in the eye, "I'm not expecting to stay here for free."

"I know," I say honestly. Somethings never change.

"Oh. Okay." She says, shoulders relaxing. "I just didn't want—I—can help out with the bakery...getting food." She scratches the back of her head.

"Okay," I say, knowing better than to disagree with _that_.

We sit in comfortable silence, as I cut a loaf of bread; Katniss serves the tea I started.

"Do you take sugar in you tea?" She asks.

"Yeah, please." I say, absentmindedly.

"Me too," she gives me half a smile. That's when I realize how much we've both changed. We're not where we were five years ago.

Once we're deep into our meal, I decide it's time. I look at her straight in the eye.

"So, why are you in District 12?" I hold my breath. From what I've seen and heard this morning, I'm going to guess the answer won't be a good one.

"I..." She tries, looking at her hands as if she's trying to recite something she memorized. "I—no longer have relatives in District 4."

END OF CHAPTER FOUR

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_dun dun dun_

This chapter was really hard to write, so I hope you liked it! I'm going to go sleep now my brain is totes fried.

Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, w/e.

**Another thank you to my beta: itsjustdude :)**

**Edited: 12-15-12  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**_A heartfelt thank to my awesome beta: itsjustdude~ You rock dude. _**

* * *

_"I—no longer have relatives in District 4."_

Relatives…Brother…Sister…Mother… Father… Cousin… Uncle… Aunt...

Deep down—I'm sure—I know what she means. But for some reason, my heart asks my brain to define, sort, and picture. There must be an exception—a loophole, anything—because there is no way. It can't—

"Prim—" I say, only to be interrupted.

"Yes," Katniss says. She's looking at me, but the glassy surface of her eyes tells me she really isn't—not really. No, Katniss is somewhere else. She's not in District 12. I doubt she's even in District 4. Katniss is still in whatever place she was this morning. Whatever nightmare she had has seeped into the day—no that's wrong. Horrible, unforgiving reality has seeped into the night.

And then I want to hit myself. I brought it up. She didn't obviously didn't want to talk about It, and I—being the idiot I always am—brought it up. I don't need to know anything. There is no condition to her staying here. She could've led a pack of hungry wolves here, and I wouldn't have cared; I would've let her in, traded places even. I am an idiot, the absolute worst of them. I am about to tell her she doesn't need to talk about it anymore, when she—to my surprise—continues.

"Prim…" She pauses, as if looking for the right word. "Prim…died…a month ago." She swallows hard. "My mother, she followed Prim; she did it herself." Oh my God. Now I really want to hit myself. Surprisingly, Katniss is eerily calm while she tells me this. She doesn't cry. No other expression other than the same stoic, far-away look appears on her face. That's when I know something is horribly wrong. No one—not even the impenetrable Katniss Everdeen—can do that in a right mind. In my whole life, I have never met anyone who loved as much as Katniss loved her sister. Her flat tone, her distant eyes… they don't say what I know. She continues, "And you know the rules; when they found out, I was sent back…"

And I can't help myself. I ask it. The question that proves just what a worthless, selfish idiot I am.

"What about Gale?" That brings her back. Her gaze changes; I can tell she's back; she's looking at me again—at least until she looks away. "He's your family too. Is he—"

"Gale?" She asks, looking confused. Then, what can only be realization crosses her face. "Oh, Gale, he—we—" She scratches the back of her head, looking almost embarrassed. Well—Gale and I—we …we never got married."

If I hadn't finished eating already, I surely would have choked. Katniss…she didn't marry Gale? Then—

"I thought—I—why?" I ask, before I can start to get carried away. Too late. I'm an asshole. I really hope she doesn't notice the excitement in my voice. I think of Prim and what she told me only a minute earlier to calm down. It helps a little.

"We were going to… but when we arrived—"Her eyes look distant as she remembers, but they are no longer absent. "When we arrived… we didn't feel the need to anymore."

"The need to?" I ask, hoping she doesn't snap out of this talking mood.

"Yes, we agreed to get married, because we realized it would give us a chance to escape into something better. I needed him to take us away; he needed help making ends meet after Hazelle—his mom—got sick." She rolls bread crust between her thumb and index finger. "When we arrived Gale said we didn't have to get married anymore. There was so much opportunity; we just didn't see any reason to continue the agreement. We didn't tell anyone, of course. As far as everyone knew, Gale and I were still engaged. They put our families in the same house, so no one, not even our families, could've guessed we had no plans of ever getting married. We told everyone we wanted things to settle before we married. Relocations Services is located in the Capitol—they're always swamped, apparently, so I don't think they bother to actually check up on people. And we got away with it. Until…you know. "

I do try my hardest to suppress my feelings; I try to feel indifferent—indifferent like the stranger Katniss believes me to be would be, but I can't. The very least I can do is keep the surging emotion off my face. Katniss continues:

"When Prim married a Peacekeeper, Gale and I were off the hook. Gale found a girl; I stayed with my mother." Her face falls at that, but she continues. "We weren't too poor. Our zone needed an apothecary; I helped the couple next door with their netting business. We weren't fishermen like the vast majority, and we only had each other, so we were considered well off…" Her face turns pink when she says that last part. I guess it must be strange to be back under the social rules of District 12. It must be hard to think and analyze status by hair color again. District 12 is pathetic. The conversation is heading into awkward territory, so I change the subject.

"So they removed you because your sister—?" I scratch my head, unable to finish my question. "I honestly wouldn't think the capitol—"

"Oh, they would—if they noticed. And they noticed."

"How?" I ask. Bad idea. She pauses, looking down at her hands again. When she looks up at me, me her grey eyes look seem far away again. Oh shit. "I—I—how did you end up here?" I ask, changing the subject—again. This brings her back.

"Another family is living where I used to live. When I went and asked where I was supposed to stay, they told to make due, and to be glad that 'my punishment' wasn't worse." She laughs at that. "I searched for people I remembered. Greasy Sae—a friend from the hob—is gone. Madge lives with her Peacekeeper husband—I –I couldn't go there."

"Why?" I ask.

"Well, I hunt, for starters…" She stops abruptly again. I'm beginning to understand when she doesn't want to talk about something, so I move on.

"So you end up here?" I smile at her, partly because I want to lighten the mood, but also because I'm happy—at least with her presence, reasons aside. She looks down, embarrassed, I guess. I don't know why though. I should be blushing; my whole life is an embarrassment.

"Yes," she says, managing half a smile. "I have absolutely no place to go. I didn't really have too many friends aside from Gale. I hardly remember our classmates; I remember you though." Now it's my turn to be embarrassed, as I figure why she remembers me. She reflects my embarrassment. She clears her throat. "Like I said, I'm willing to help out. I haven't hunted in years, but I think I can do it again. It will only be for a while. Hopefully I'll work something out with someone… I'm out of options for right now." If I weren't such an excited simpleton, I would have probably been affected by her obvious emphasis on the fact that I was her last resort. Luckily, I am.

"You can stay here for as long as you want," I tell her. "I live alone anyway." We both pause.

"I—I'm sorry," she says.

"What?" I ask; she hesitates.

"About your dad, I guess. When it happened, I was too distracted, and I owed you a visit." The reminder of my father stings a bit. I am overcome with guilt how quickly mourning him was de-prioritized. I finally inanely respond:

"That's okay, Prim came—" I break off. I'm an idiot. The impact of my stupidity is interrupted, however, by a knock on the door. "I'll get that," I say, looking at the floor where I feel I belong at the moment. The knocker, clearly an impatient one, continues to knock, and breaks off when I swing the door open. Shit.

"Darla," I say. "What—oomph"

"Peeta!" Darla jumps, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me…" She mutters into my ear. At first, I don't respond when Darla starts kissing me, but then I remember: Katniss. Dear God.

"It's fine, you don't owe me anything. Look—" I put my hands in between us.

"Catless!" Darla greets over my shoulder. I gently pry Darla from me. I turn around avoiding Katniss' gaze.

"Katniss," Katniss and I correct together, forcing our eyes to meet. Katniss looks almost amused, which I guess beats disgusted.

"Are you still staying here, Katniss?" Darla asks.

"Ye—" Katniss and I cut off our simultaneous answer. She lets me go ahead. "Yeah, she is." I feel like I don't owe any more of an explanation. I'm still measuring Katniss' expression, so I don't see whatever Darla's reaction is. But I hear it.

"Sorry, Katniss—I'll try to remember your name. I'm sure I will… I come here often." The smirk plastered on her face is evident from her tone. It doesn't affect Katniss though. Why would it? She looks as amused as before. I'm pleasantly surprised to see Katniss wearing such an expression, even if it is at my expense. Katniss gets up.

"Oh, well, I'll leave you two here." Katniss says, taking our plates to the sink. "I think I'm going to go see if my bow and arrows are still intact." She mentions, earning a gasp from Darla, who's probably never been to the meadow, much less the woods.

"Alright," I answer, hoping my expression shows my apology. Katniss nods and leaves the kitchen. I turn to Darla, who is still staring at Katniss' figure disappearing up the stairs.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry about last night," she pouts, making her way over to embrace me. I take a step back. "Please forgive me—I—I don't know what came—" I interrupt her.

"There is no need to apologize, Darla." I look her straight in the eye; she needs to get what I'm saying. "You don't owe me anything." I'm honestly not sure how much Katniss' presence will change things, but I know Darla has to go: Katniss or no Katniss. "Look, I think it's best if we just go our separate ways…" I cringe, realizing how much my words make it sound like a break up—which it isn't. Although I've never had a girlfriend, I've had to break things up with some women—women who became too attached. It sounds cruel from the outside, but I don't see it that way. None of them will ever be enough. No, "enough" isn't the right word—they are all enough, that's how I managed to stay sane. The problem is none of them are Katniss Everdeen—a girl I know less than half the girls I've slept with. The following few seconds of silence are interrupted by Darla beginning to hiccup.

"Why?" She cries, "Is it because of her? She's-she's just District 12 Seam trash—she's—she's probably here hoping you'll pay—"

"Goodbye, Darla." I cut her off, realizing for the first time who it is that Darla resembles. And I want to vomit at the thought. I couldn't stand up to my mother, but I can say goodbye to Darla. For good.

"But last night we—what about—what about my homework?" She blubbers.

"Darla, this is District 12, and you don't care that much about school. Goodbye." I realize I am now bordering cruel, but I can't stop myself; I need her away from here. I'm not sure what's going to happen with Katniss, but things are going to change. I don't need Darla here. I also know that's she's just being jealous; she has at least two other boyfriends. I hear the front door of the bakery slamming shut. Katniss is gone. Who knows what she heard, who knows what she thinks.

"At least tell me why," Darla crosses her arms. I am spared from answering by the opening of the back door. It's Thomas, the second in command at the bakery.

"Goodbye, Darla." I repeat, knowing I've won. Darla wouldn't make a scene. Not in front of someone from our side.

"I'll see you later, Peeta." She says, giving me a quick peck on the lips. Shit. "Hi, Tom," Darla winks after wiping her tears. Thomas looks away embarrassed, as he puts on his apron.

What an incestuous group we are here in District 12. Darla walks out the open door, leaving an awkward tension in the room.

"I have guest," I say, diverting from the tension, and sparing an embarrassed Thomas. "I don't know how long she'll be staying here, but she's going to help out, probably." Thomas nods, as he washes his hands.

"Family?" He walks into the cooler.

"No," I say. "She—she's an old friend from school. She was in my grade." Thomas was two grades below us, so I didn't exactly know him until he came to work for my father. He's the youngest of four, so naturally, by the time he needed a job the family business was taken care of. He works well enough, although he has the shakiest hands. Garret—another worker—and I handle the decorating.

"Who is she, then?" He asks me, as I check the inventory.

"Uh, Katniss Everdeen." I say. Something falls in the cooler, and I turn to see Thomas running out of the cooler to see me.

"Katniss Everdeen?" He asks, eyebrows raised to the top of his blond hair.

"Yeah, do you know her?" Thomas is now a shade redder than when Darla winked at him. Clearly he does know her. How, I don't know.

"Not really," he says, "I just—well I was one of those guys in high school who kinda liked her."

"What?" What.

"There was a whole group of us; we all thought she was pretty." He laughs, "This one year, we all asked her out at different times; she turned every one of us down, signature frown and all. I remember it well." He says , dazed. "First and last time I talked to her; we never had the same classes. Is Gale with her? Me and some guys had a goodbye drink in her honor when we heard she got engaged." Do I really want to answer that? No. Suddenly I want to open the door, and tell Thomas to take his stupid shaky hands and get the fuck out. Two deep breaths later, I swallow the impulse. I am overreacting.

"Uh… no, he's not." I say, hoping the conversation is over. It's not.

"Really? Is she single now? Is Gale coming too? What does she look—" I don't let him finish though.

"You'll see her later," I say trying to keep my tone light and neutral. "She went hunting."

"Oh." I don't continue the conversation. Neither does he. Unfortunately, I didn't completely succeed in keeping my tone neutral. We spend the next few minutes in silent tension; it is broken when the rest of the crew arrives, and greetings are exchanged.

They talk. I don't listen. I am lost in my own thoughts. I try to figure out why I'm so angry, as I pound my fists in the dough, pretending it's Thomas' face. When it hits me, I feel pathetic. For some reason I always thought I was special. That only I could see past social circles and truly admire Katniss Everdeen. I thought my admiration was unique. But instead, I was just part of a pack of pathetic high school –no. They're not pathetic. They asked her out; they talked to her, while I did nothing but watch from afar. Yeah, I'm pathetic.

* * *

I am tending the front when Katniss comes back well after lunch. There are two scratches on her left cheek.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

Sorry for the long time it took to update, and definitely sorry it's short. I just needed to figure things out, like character motivations (esp. for Katniss, she still puzzles me after so long), what happened in District 4, and what's going to happen in District 12. Also, it's nearing the end of the semester and I won't have time to update as often until December 14th. After that I'm just going to crank out chapters cuz I really enjoy writing.

Recently, I actually sat down and read this story, and my God, I almost had an anxiety attack. Idk how y'll can read this. I nearly fainted on the treadmill (I happened to exercising at the time). Anyway, I got to figure some stuff out, so this story def has a future. The story will answer all questions in the future (unless I forget, which is actually likely).

**Check out my Tumblr: dauntlessbuttercup**

_**Another thank you to my awesometastic beta: itsjustdude**_

_**Edited: 12-15-12  
**_


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